


so what are you after (some kind of disaster)?

by suicidein_angeleyes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Come Eating, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, I have no excuse for this, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Switch Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, it's just porn, magically induced knotting, some feelings might sneak in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicidein_angeleyes/pseuds/suicidein_angeleyes
Summary: Life on the Path is hard but consistent and creative sex tends to make life that much easier.Random, disconnected porn pieces.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 249





	1. & it's all my fault (I'm  still the one you want)

**Author's Note:**

> I have... absolutely no excuse for this. It started as a quick writing session to feel better, and then it turned into absolutely shameless and explicit smut that I get to share with all y'all. None of them connect, though it started as a 'five plus one' idea, so that theme might carry through.
> 
> Not every tag applies to every chapter, and I'll put warnings here for anything that might not be everybody's cup of tea and update the tags if I need to. Title and chapter titles from All Time Low's 'Some Kind of Disaster'.
> 
> This chapter: post-hunt, potion induced slightly feral sex. Geralt overestimates the potions he'll need for a hunt, and needs to burn off that extra energy. Luckily, Jaskier is more than willing to assist.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. It’s not even the tenth. Geralt has lost count of all the times he’s fallen into bed with Jaskier. After a hunt or on the road or late nights at the inns when they’ve actually managed one for the night. It’s not even the first time while Geralt is still under some of the influence of the potions he used while he was on a hunt, eyes still shaded with inky black, the veins around them stark against skin far too pale for the living. 

It’s too far back to the village they’d been contracted in, long since dark and he’s sure Jaskier’s already set camp where he’d left him with Roach. The creature’s head will keep until the morning, and at the moment it didn’t concern him much. It hadn’t taken the effort he was expecting, and the potion's energy still pumps through his system. The sack with the head proceeds him into the camp, startling a yelp out of Jaskier where he’d been strumming his lute beside the fire. Geralt will give him credit; the instrument is over his back and a dagger in his hand before the witcher steps from the treeline. 

“Your reactions are improving.” 

Jaskier sighs dramatically, head shaking. “Good gods, Geralt, you gave me a fright,” he relaxes slowly, the hand with the dagger dropping a bit as Geralt prowls towards him. “I can only assume things went well, then. You appear relatively unharmed. Though, I see your potions are still in effect,” Geralt responds with a noncommittal grunt, and Jaskier’s head shakes, sheathing the blade. “Well, if you’re expecting to burn off energy by giving chase, you should have found yourself back here before nightfall. I’m certainly not dashing off through unfamiliar woods in the dark. Gods know what’s out there to get to me well before you managed to track me down.” 

Despite his words, Jaskier’s movements are calculated. Blue eyes track Geralt, matching his movements to back away. Giving the illusion of chase as Geralt growls at the notion of anything finding him first, sidestepping past their packs and into a more open area of the clearing. He’s gotten better at the game and the chase over the years and the thrill never fails to entice him.

A snarl pulls from Geralt, taking an impatient step forward, but Jaskier counters easily, changing direction. “There’s the famed white wolf we all know and love. Come now, darling. When was the last time your growl truly scared me into submission?” 

Jaskier thinks it’s a fair point, but the bubbling growl from Geralt’s chest doesn’t quite express the same appreciation. He feigns left, but not nearly fast enough to move right again, and a hand in the center of his chest shoves him bodily back into a tree. Hard enough to wind him and leave him briefly dazed as Geralt breathes into his neck with a growl. “You’ll have to do better than that little lark.”

Pulse hammering beneath the tongue Geralt drags up the length of his neck, Jaskier shifts slightly, quick hands finding the buckles of leather armor with practiced fingers. The shirt Jaskier’s wearing is Geralt’s, and the scent hasn’t escaped the witcher’s notice. It’s old and worn, and that much is clearly intentional when Geralt grips the fabric to tear down the front, and Jaskier simply laughs. “ _Brute_.” 

Geralt grunts his agreement, but instead of speaking, he buries his teeth in the side of Jaskier’s neck until he gasps and squirms under the pressure that walks the fine line between pain and pleasure. Large hands span Jaskier’s sides, gripping bare skin with a scrape of nails that makes him gasp, back arching into the touch. Jaskier twists in his grip and the distracted focus as Geralt licks the mark he's made almost allows him to slip out of his grip. 

Almost. 

Geralt catches him with a foot around his ankle, sending the bard sprawling face-first on the ground. He only has a second to whine about it before the torn shirt is being used to secure his wrists behind his back, twisting under the witcher’s weight as it bears down on him. 

He makes a disapproving sound, teeth dragging over his skin to fix in a ring at the nape of his neck with a growl. His fingers work into the loose pants at the bard’s hips, pulling them down just enough to show his ass, hobbling his legs with the fabric’s restrictions. It's not ropes but the restraints make Jaskier sigh prettily into the dirt.

The sigh turns into a groan as Geralt presses his cloth-covered erection against his ass, leather cool against the skin that's already heated. He hisses out a breath between his teeth with a sigh, nearly a whine as he presses back against Geralt’s genuinely gigantic cock. If allowed, Jaskier would sing ballads to that cock and the sounds of absolute pleasure it wrings from him, Geralt’s sure. Luckily, he’s made it quite clear any of the pretty songs the bard might sing about him are only between them. 

With determined movements, Geralt moves away from him slightly, digging into the pocket of Jaskier’s pants for the vial of oil he knew would be there. He checks his fingers carefully for claws, nails clean enough and he pours the oil into his hand to coat fingers in the slick before sliding one into him slowly. Jaskier gasps and groans, pushing back against him, but a hand in the center of his back shoves him back down. 

“Geralt, don’t tease me,” the words come out on a whined sigh, his arms twisting in the grip with a gasp. Geralt leans over his back, biting at the back of his neck with a snarl, barely nudging another finger into him to make him gasp. It’s still a tease, barely there to curl his fingers slowly and shove them into him, finding the spot inside him to make him choke on his words and his hips jump back against him. 

Three fingers is a stretch, it always is, and Jaskier sighs into it. Because, like most things about Geralt, his fingers are huge, and Jaskier praises any gods he can think of for that fact.

“Fu-uck,” Jaskier gasps out the word, tugging hard on the fabric surrounding his arms. While Geralt had torn through it easily, it held Jaskier fast, and he couldn't pull away, or push closer, or generally convince Geralt to change his pace or move faster in the slightest. “I swear to _fuck_ , Geralt, put your gods damn cock in me, or---”

Geralt’s fingers curl, pressing down inside the poet and his words cut off in a desperate gasp. “Or what, little lark?” His fingers twist, pumping deeper roughly to make Jaskier gasps and twist beneath him with a drawn-out groan. “I didn’t quite catch that. You’re usually so talkative,” Jaskier pants into the dirt in response, mouth hanging open helplessly to drool into the dirt, and Jaskier can’t find it in himself to care or stop himself. Geralt offers a breath, growling low in his throat as he slips another finger into him, making Jaskier twist and groan on four fingers. 

“G-Geralt, I swear to _gods_ , every single one that I can think of, you know I can take you like this,” Jaskier whines, hips jumping as Geralt curls his fingers just so inside him to find that spot inside him that makes his whole body jump and writhe beneath the touch. “You’ve bloody well caught me, do not play with me now, you-- you---” 

The words are cut off as Geralt continues to work his body over, twisting and flexing fingers into him until he’s nearly sobbing into the dirt. “What was that, bardling? I’m not sure I heard your demands correctly.” 

Jaskier groans into the dirt, making a desperate choked out sound as Geralt pulls away, leaving him suddenly and unbearably empty. It doesn’t last long as Geralt lifts him and in the part of his brain still working, he marvels over how easily Geralt does it. Like he weighs nothing at all, especially under the influence of the potion. He deposits Jaskier easily on the bedrolls that were set up in shameless anticipation. The shirt is ripped down the back to free his arms, and they fall forward to support him as Geralt rids him of boots and then his trousers. Jaskier yanks the remains of the tunic from his arms, spreading his knees as he gets them settled back under him. He turns his head, looking over his shoulder to find Geralt stripping from his armor slowly. Intentionally, and his grin turns dark and sharp when he catches Jaskier watching him. 

And maybe someone else would tell Jaskier he shouldn't be so attracted to those pitch-black eyes in reaction to feral poison pulsing through his veins, but it just sends a shiver through him. Black veins flex in Geralt’s thick forearms as he drops his tunic to the side, broad chest on display. 

"Dearling, you are lovely," lust blown blue eyes trace the lines of his body, different scars, and the flex of muscles. Then Geralt's working to undo the laces on leather breeches that already strain over the length of his hard cock. Jaskier's mouth waters at the truly ridiculous size of the man. 

He doesn't know about all witchers but Geralt's cock is just as large and impressive as the rest of him. Boots and trousers are kicked off, moving forward and slicking his length with oil in smooth steps. 

There's little ceremony as he drops to his knees behind Jaskier, a hand between his shoulder blades to shove down until his chest is pressed to the bedroll, back arching, and leaving his ass on display. A pleased growl pulls from Geralt at the view presented to him, hands gripping Jaskier’s ass to spread and look at his slicked hole, pressing his thumbs into him slowly, making Jaskier whine and writhe beneath the touch. 

Jaskier stills as Geralt moves to slick his own cock with more oil, jerking himself idly with a tight fist before pressing his cock against his loosened hole. Geralt’s hips push forward slowly and Jaskier whines, helpless to the feeling of _almost-too-much, oh-fuck-can-I-take-this_ stretch of Geralt’s cock opening him up. Geralt’s big hands grip his hips, rolling forward in one steady push that makes Jaskier gasp and whine but his scent is saturated with lust and he presses back against Geralt as much as he can. 

That’s about the limit of his calm, collected control. Big hands grasp Jaskier’s hips, pulling him back against him hard to thrust into him harder. Jaskier makes a desperate, punched out sound, gripping the bedroll to spread his knees a little more. A hand presses between his shoulder blades again, pushing his chest back into the bedroll as he begins to move harder, hips snapping into him with steady motions. Geralt growls low at the way Jaskier goes almost boneless beneath him, back arching to allow himself to be fucked. Part of him would worry he was being too rough if it weren’t for the loud, shameless approval coming from the man beneath him. 

Fingers move, dragging blunt nails down the length of Jaskier’s back, watching the bard arch into the touch. The hand slides back up his back to curl firmly into his hair, gripping hard and using an arm at his waist to haul Jaskier back against him, settling back on his heels to press him practically in his lap. It presses him that much deeper, making Jaskier squirm and jerk in the grip as his back bows. 

Geralt slides a hand around Jaskier’s throat, teeth dragging over the skin of his shoulder as he continues to thrust into him, rocking Jaskier bodily in his lap. “Do you really think I would let anyone else take you, little lark?" The words are growled against his ear, gripping Jaskier around the waist to lift and drag Jaskier down against his thrusts. "Let anyone near what's mine?" 

Sharp teeth dig into his shoulder and Jaskier cries out as his whole body jerks against him and Geralt can feel his cock jerk where it's hard and flushed, bouncing against his stomach. Geralt snarls low, teeth fitting against his shoulder as he releases his throat to grip the lithe waist and lift Jaskier more thoroughly, slamming him down to meet his upward thrusts. 

A strangled yelp escapes Jaskier, gripping Geralt’s wrists to attempt to keep himself steady, knees spread a little, though spread as he is over Geralt’s massive thighs it doesn’t really help. He’s basically like a doll in Geralt’s grip, and under the influence of the potion Geralt’s grip on him never wavers. 

“Fu-fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps out his words, head bowed forward as Geralt supports his entire weight. “You’re so… Fucking big I---!” 

He shudders as Geralt moves to leave a harsh bite mark at Jaskier’s neck, rocking into him. Jaskier startles, going helplessly rigid under him, jerking as his cock spurts. Coming over his stomach and thighs entirely untouched. Geralt pushes him back down on the bedroll, gripping his hips to thrust into him again, fucking him through the orgasm, though he slows until he’s mostly just grinding his hips into the pliant body beneath him. Hands fit beneath his thighs to stretch Jaskier out flat on the bedroll, stretching out over him to blanket his body completely. 

“You take me so well, songbird,” words are mumbled against his ear as Jaskier squirms with the overstimulation. But he doesn’t complain, shifting his hips back as much as he can under the weight of Geralt’s body, wiggling to press back against him and encourage him to start thrusting again. 

Geralt takes the permission to move, though he takes it slowly now, his hips rolling forward in languid motions. Jaskier gasps with each slow drag of his body, and Geralt snarls against his nape, hard enough to make Jaskier squirm desperately beneath him. 

“Geralt, _fuck_ ,” Jaskier whines beneath him, clawing at the bedroll until Geralt grips both his wrists to drag them behind his back, folding them like a bar at the center of his back and holding them there with one large hand. Jaskier bucks under his grip, not going anywhere at all, but it rocks Geralt’s cock against his prostate, and Jaskier screams. Geralt can smell the saltwater scent of tears, but he doesn’t fight or struggle away from Geralt. His hips arch back to encourage the motion of his thrusts, but it changes the angle to something less overstimulating. And it’s _so good_ , the way Jaskier submits to him so willingly. The potion’s effects make the urge to dominate and take that much stronger, and the arch of Jaskier’s back as he gasps under Geralt is perfect in a way he’s never known how to ask for from another partner. 

Jaskier gives it without thinking about it.

Geralt growls loud in the back of his throat, teeth pressing to the back of Jaskier’s shoulder as the orgasm rips through him, heat clenching his muscles as his hands bruise Jaskier’s pale skin. His hips pump through it, filling the younger man until it’s impossible for it not to be uncomfortable. Even with Geralt’s cock still plugging his ass, he’s leaking. 

Another growl and Geralt leans back on his knees and spreads his ass to look carefully where they’re connected, hips rolling forward a little to watch as more is pressed from his body, scooping it up with thick fingers to rub into the crease of his ass. 

Jaskier sighs lazily as he stretches now freed arms over his head. “Go ahead,” The words are lazy, his voice rough from screaming. He rolls his head, blue eyes meeting dilated gold over his shoulder. His lips curl in a knowing smirk, rocking his hips back against him. “I know you want to, you kinky bastard. Lick yourself out of me so I can taste you. Taste _us_ , on your tongue.”

Geralt’s groan sounds punched out of him and a little broken to pull out of Jaskier slowly, watching the flow of spent seed that leaks from his swollen hole before he shifts down the bedroll and lays himself between Jaskier’s legs. One hand curls under a slender thigh to hold him in place, while the other spreads a pert asscheek to press in, not hesitating to lick at the loosened hole, diving in with his tongue to lick into his body, tasting his own come and inhaling there, where Jaskier’s scent is strongest. He groans again at the taste and the way Jaskier works his hips back against his mouth. Thick fingers work into him alongside his tongue, inching his other hand beneath Jaskier to press to his lower stomach. The singer gasps, body clenching as he rocks back onto Geralt’s tongue, pressing fingers deeper into himself and encouraging the flow of come as Jaskier rocks on Geralt’s tongue. 

It doesn’t take long until Jaskier is reaching back to slap his shoulder with a grunt. “I’m not nineteen anymore, my cock cannot handle it. Come up here.” Geralt goes without complaint, and there’s finally a glimpse of familiar gold irises as his eyes meet satisfied blues, though Jaskier only catches a glimpse of the blown-out pupils before Geralt’s lips meet his. 

Jaskier groans at the taste of Geralt’s come being pressed into his mouth to coat his tongue. He sighs into the touch, rolling as Geralt’s weight comes to settle against his side, looping an arm around his shoulders to press into the kiss until Geralt falls to his back lazily, the potion’s effects fading and leaving him loose-limbed and very nearly unconscious. There’s an idle thought that he should offer to clean Jaskier properly, or even help the younger man wrestle him into the bedrolls properly, but it’s a distant thought as Jaskier settles against his chest, warm and content.


	2. I felt the sun rise (up and swallow me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is well aware that Geralt allows him to dominate him, but neither can deny how much they enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: A little bit of bondage, come sharing, a little sprinkling of praise kink and that's about it for this one.   
> Bottom!Geralt. Is that a warning? I dunno, some people don't dig it. Anyways.

“My darling White Wolf. You do look so lovely in ropes.” Geralt grunts at the words as Jaskier circles the bed. Both wrists are tied securely to the posts of the headboard, facing the dark, crudely carved wood. Ropes loop just above his knees as well, keeping his legs spread, and leaving Geralt with little option but to wait, impatiently, for the bard’s next move. A wrist jerks, testing the knots and Jaskier sighs dramatically as he climbs onto the bed at the witchers back. “Yes, yes, I am well aware that you are more than capable of breaking both the ropes and that headboard if you truly wished to free yourself,” he leans against Geralt’s shoulder, resting against him with a satisfied grunt as the witcher supports his weight easily. “But you won’t, will you?” 

Jaskier’s patience is impressive if he does say so himself, as he waits for a response from Geralt. He receives a grunt. It’s affirmative, for sure, in terms of grunts from Geralt, but Jaskier was looking for a bit more. 

So, he bites the back of Geralt’s shoulder. Hard. Hard enough to make the man before him grunt, body jerking back against him as he growls. Jaskier growls right back, and the fact that the sound he produces isn’t quite as intimidating doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “ _Will you,_ Geralt?”

“No, Jask.” The words sound gritted out between his teeth and Jaskier smiles, before biting his shoulder again, making Geralt jerk. “No, I will not break the ropes or the fucking headboard, but I may break your fucking neck if you don’t get a fucking move on.” 

“So needy,” Jaskier hums softly, nuzzling against the side of his neck affectionately as he combs fingers through his hair slowly, pulling it loose from the tie as he does. “And what if I wish to take my time with you?” Teeth drag over the back of his shoulder again, pressing into skin shamelessly as Geralt jerks against the bonds and presses back into the touch, ass arching back against Jaskier’s clothed crotch. “Needy tonight, aren’t we? That’s alright my wolf. You’ll be taken care of.” 

Hands slide over his sides affectionately as Jaskier presses against his back, the cloth of his britches rubbing against the firm globes of Geralt’s ass, and he arches back against him willingly, feeling the hard line of Jaskier’s cock press against the crease of his ass. Geralt groans, head tipped back to bare his neck as Jaskier drags his tongue up the length of skin, turning to bite just beneath his ear and making Geralt release a helpless shout. Jaskier licks the mark he knows will be gone by morning, curling his tongue over his skin as his hands come to touch Geralt’s chest, palming firm pecs with sure fingers. Jaskier’s pretty sure Geralt has never voiced his appreciation for the lute more often than when calloused fingers drag over his skin. 

“I could spend all day appreciating your tits, my gorgeous wolf,” it’s not Jaskier’s most delicate turn of phrase, but it’s true. Geralt releases a grunt that turns into an unwilling whine as talented fingers twist around his nipple, the other hand palming over its twin before changing tactics to smooth his fingers over the previously abused nipple and dragging blunt nails over the other as it stands to attention. Geralt gasps and arches against him, allowing Jaskier to mouth along his neck, leaving marks that will be gone by morning, but each one burned into the wolf’s memory like a brand. Jaskier drags his tongue over the back of his neck slowly, teeth bearing into the nape until Geralt produces a sound. It’s not discomfort, not quite, but it’s enough of the reaction Jaskier was looking for, dragging his tongue over it again with the faint taste of copper from where his teeth pressed hard enough to break the skin. Not enough to scar, but it sends Geralt shuddering. 

“There’s my good Witcher,” Jaskier’s voice is low against his ear, and it produces a low growl from the white-haired man in front of him, a faint tremor present through his muscles. Gentle lips press to the back of Geralt’s shoulder as hands smooth around his hips to grip his cock, smoothing up to tease the foreskin, collecting precome there to smooth down his length. It’s not nearly enough for comfort, just barely easing the stroke of Jaskier’s bare hand. “Such a good boy,” the words are purred from Jaskier, like thick honey and a warm sound pulls from him as Geralt’s cock jerks in his grip. He presses his grin against the back of Geralt’s shoulder, feeling the witcher’s growl rumble through his own chest. 

Teasing is all well and good, but Jaskier is only human, and he has Geralt spread out for him like the Continent’s finest art. Lips work lazily down his back, dragging his tongue over the knobs of his spine to work his way down in steady movements. Geralt huffs as Jaskier moves, shuddering as the bard’s tongue works down the cleft of his ass, biting back his moan as strong hands grip and spread the globes of his ass to drag his tongue from where his balls hang, heavy and full to drag all the way to his hole. Jaskier groans as the muscles flex beneath the tongue that presses against him, shamelessly allowing drool to pool from his mouth and drip over Geralt’s skin. 

An ominous creek pulls from the headboard as Geralt growls low. “Get. The. Fuck. _On with it, bard._ ” 

Jaskier laughs low, drawing his lips up the line of his spine slowly, reaching for oil that had been laid out on the bed at some point. “Impatient, aren’t we?” 

Geralt growls, but anything he would have said is cut off as two slick fingers slide into him slowly. Each time the witcher attempts to squirm back against him, Jaskier’s pace slows, pressing hot kisses against the back of his neck with a grin. He grunts as three fingers twist to press against him _inside_ and his hips rock with the sparks of pleasure that curl through him. Heat starting low in his gut that spreads through him. 

It’s tempting to keep going until Geralt is at his limits again, but Jaskier grants small mercies, allowing Geralt to rock on his fingers for only short moments when the movements of his hips start to get desperate before he pulls away, slicking his cock with the oil. 

“My dear heart,” words are spoken against the curve of Geralt’s ear as Jaskier shifts behind him, slick cock gliding against the cleft of Geralt’s ass slowly. “Lovely, gorgeous White Wolf,” Geralt growls low at the affectionate pet names, but the sound quickly dissolves into a groan as Jaskier steadies himself, and thrust into him with a roll of his hips. He shudders, and Jaskier rests his forehead against the back of a broad shoulder, watching as the thrust into the welcoming heat of the body before him in slow rolls of his hips. He lifts his lips to press a biting kiss to the skin in front of his mouth, panting slowly against his skin. “You are bliss, love.” 

He watches strong fingers clench as Geralt’s head falls forward with an audible thunk against the headboard in front of him. White hair has begun to stick to his shoulders with sweat that’s working over his skin. Jaskier grips his hips, leaning forward to drag his tongue over the nape of Geralt’s neck, tasting the salt on his skin as he presses their bodies together to find a slow pace with his thrusts, pulling out slowly before pushing back in with harsh rolls of his hips that leave the larger man gasping. 

Jaskier moves as Geralt’s body relaxes against him, the tense set of coiled muscles relaxed slowly. The only tension building in them now comes from the pleasure that courses through him as Jaskier’s hands travel over his skin. Never staying in one place long as hips roll against him, teeth dragging over the back of his shoulder. 

“That’s it, darling,” Jaskier’s voice rasps out, and Geralt growls, pushing back against him as much as he can. Jaskier gasps, fingers digging bruises into him as he struggles to maintain his pace. The way Geralt reacts to him makes him weak every time, no matter that the man in question is the one tied securely to the bed. Even if the marks won’t last, he’s satisfied to see the bruises on Geralt’s hips while he can. 

Jaskier fits his teeth into the side of Geralt’s neck to hear him moan, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair to pull and hear him moan again, this time mixing the sound with a growl. “Are you going to come for me, dearling?” 

Geralt’s only reply is a deep growl that rumbles through his chest, and Jaskier can feel it where he presses up firmly against the witcher’s back. Teeth dig into the back of his neck, slowing the roll of his hips and changing the angle until Geralt shouts, and the bed frame creaks. _That’s it_. The thought dances through Jaskier’s mind as he maintains that angle, using the grip in his hair to pull back, forcing the wolf before him to bare his throat. Jaskier inhales at his throat, breathing in the scent of musk and sweat, and clean skin beneath the lightly scented soap that Geralt actually tolerates from him. It’s a poor imitation of the way Geralt scents the bard, a human’s sense of smell entirely unable to compare, but he knows that he likes what he can smell. And the motion always makes Geralt shudder against him. 

When he’s like this, under Jaskier’s hands and mouth, it makes a sharp whine drag from him, pressing back into the thrusts that make his body clench, and muscles begin to shake. Jaskier’s hands slide around his body, rubbing a hand over the wet head of his cock to stroke, just shy of too dry as he grips him, rubbing his fingers just under the head. The motion makes Geralt’s hips jerk, shuddering all over. “Just like that, my beautiful white wolf. Come for me.” 

And he does. A growl rips from his chest as his muscles tense and he spills over Jaskier’s fingers and onto the headboard. Jaskier leaves his teeth pressed into the skin of his shoulder, gentling the roll of his hips as he breathes him in. 

“You are fucking gorgeous, my wolf,” the words are mumbled against his skin, pulling out of him slowly and gently, in consideration for the witcher’s oversensitized body. He strokes himself, slicked with Geralt’s spend. It only takes short strokes, just tight enough that it only takes a few until he’s spending over Geralt’s back and thighs until it’s dripping down his skin. A sigh pulls from him, leaning forward against his back, licking at the nape of his neck. Then he moves slowly, dragging his tongue down his back until he can clean his own spend from the witcher’s skin. It’s a slow and meticulous process and by the time he’s satisfied, Geralt is breathing heavily again in his bindings, and flexing against the ropes.

Jaskier hums gently as he sits up, curling a hand under Geralt’s chin to tip his head back and into his waiting kiss. The large man groans at the taste of Jaskier’s come on his tongue as it’s pushed into his mouth slowly, allowing him to press closer into the taste and feel of the body behind him. 

“The ballads I could write about your skin covered in my scent,” the words are a soft sigh against Geralt’s lips with a cheeky grin as he reaches to begin to untie one hand at a time, working to massage feeling back into each arm as they’re released, before moving on to his legs for the same treatment. 

Lazy gold eyes track him, pupils relaxed and wide to watch in the low light of the room. “If you try, I’ll fuck your throat until you’re too sore to sing for days.” 

It’s a far step up from the days where Geralt would threaten to string him up by his guts for his less than savory ballads, but it’s not an idle threat either. 

Not that the bard would voice a complaint, before, during, or after said treatment. The next day, when his voice is well and truly wrecked, possibly, but it wouldn’t be much and he wouldn’t complain long. 

A wet cloth comes around to wipe Geralt down properly with a cursory drag over the messed headboard before Jaskier gathers him into his arms, petting his fingers through long white hair as Geralt relaxes against him, draping his larger form over Jaskier’s. They can’t stay in that position for long; while Jaskier isn’t much shorter than Geralt, he is outweighed by solid muscle, and eventually, it makes it hard to breathe. But for the moment the bard is more than happy to allow the white wolf to use him as a body-sized pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did notice a bit of a trend as I went through to edit these. There's going to end up being three of bottom!Jaskier and three with bottom!Geralt and three from either point of view. That's what y'all have got to look forward to. 
> 
> Toss some kudos to your writer!


	3. i'm a sinner (i'm a saint)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is very rarely quiet. Geralt has found a few of them that both of them quite enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: um, bondage? Slight subspace. Real light D/s themes, everything safe, sane, and consensual. 
> 
> **Quick notes, I was a professional Domme as a young adult and while I've switched, my experience with subspace is generally from the outside view, so writing it from Geralt's POV made sense.

Very few things in the world genuinely make Jaskier quiet. More than a decade of traveling with the bard at his heels and Geralt has learned to interpret the silences. The silence that comes when speaking of his family, a quick silence that speaks of pain and memories he doesn’t want to touch on or delve too deeply into, and he will turn that silence around quickly, finding something loud and upbeat to speak about loudly, or find a song that’s inappropriate and immediately shifts his focus away. 

He gets quiet when he’s angry. Well and truly fuming over something that he is absolutely too upset to even speak about. Geralt has only seen that once or twice. Thankfully never being directed at him, because it’s disconcerting. A lord once had accused Geralt of lying about the head of the beast he had dropped at his feet and tried to send them off without any sort of pay. At the time, Jaskier had dressed the man down with a verbal beating that left every member of his court suffering second-hand embarrassment and the guards looking to their lord if he wanted them to slaughter the man who was so boldly insulting their lord. 

Eventually, they had been paid, with very specific instructions to _never_ return, on pain of a tongue being removed with a hot poker. And, as Geralt walked Roach from the town, following Jaskier as he stomped away, lute over his back in complete and utter silence other than his heavier breathing. The scent of fury pours off him, and Geralt allows him his emotion and his silence. It lasts through the day, and even while they make camp that night. It’s different than his frustration when he’ll mutter about the honor of lords and curse their names. Geralt is curious, honestly, because he’s used to his honor being questioned and humans attempting to cheat him out of what they agreed to pay him. It’s interesting to watch the bard charm his way into double their fare, but the anger is entirely different. The anger fades slowly as they bathe in a small river, and Geralt hunts and cooks over the small fire, and by the time he’s settling down in his bedroll, he’s humming to himself again. And, he’s talking in his state of near-sleep as he curls himself into Geralt’s side, apologizing for humans being stupid and ridiculous lords. 

And then there’s the quiet that Jaskier finds when he’s in ropes. Geralt has discovered this quiet quite by accident. Geralt had more patience to sit through the complicated rope designs that Jaskier was fond of, but he’s never slacked in his abilities with a rope. 

He had also never sat the man down and tied him up. Until he did. 

The first time he had done more than loop a length of rope around Jaskier’s wrists to pin him down or use the remains of some item of clothing to bind him, they’d made camp somewhere in the woods and Jaskier had managed to slip from the ropes around his wrists, determined to squirm and push buttons. While Geralt was perfectly alright with that, it wouldn’t do to have him think he’d get away with it. 

A big hand had pinned Jaskier down by the back of his neck in the dirt and threatened to tie him up until he had nowhere to go and nothing to do but take what he was given. Jaskier’s breath had paused, shifting until he could meet Geralt’s gaze with lust blown eyes and told him to do it, in no uncertain terms. 

It hadn’t been exceptionally fancy, that first time. Ropes looped around Jaskier’s chest and torso, holding him fast and helpless. And quiet. A good kind of quiet, big blue eyes focused on Geralt as his breathing evened and he relaxed into his bindings. He’d stayed quiet and pliant in Geralt’s grip, entirely trusting as Geralt took him apart. 

Since then, Geralt has gotten more creative with his ropework. At first, Jaskier squirms as his arms are methodically bound behind his back. He stills in increments as the rope wraps around his chest and torso, then his thighs and calves. Leaving him vulnerable and panting, open and focused solely on the feelings of the ropes on his skin, and the engaging golden eyes that keep him grounded. It’s something Jaskier trusts him with, this silence, and Geralt values it more than any gold or treasure. 

At the moment, they’re actually in an inn, stopped for a hot meal and a hot bath, and a chance for Jaskier to perform for a more appreciative audience than Geralt and Roach. It brought in good coin, and the next day Geralt would look for jobs on the notice board. Jaskier had been jittery throughout the day, not necessarily a pep in his step, but he’d steadily paced ahead of Roach’s steady walk before circling back. Geralt had put up with it with fairly agreeable grunts of conversation while Jaskier rambled at him until they’d been given their room, and he pushed the bard back against the closed door. 

It doesn’t stop the flow of words, but it does help him direct the overflowing energy. Sometimes he just can’t focus and he has so many ideas and they all want out, but getting them out just feels impossible sometimes. Geralt quiets him with a kiss that’s just short of demanding, and it leaves the troubadour blinking at him for long moments as Geralt steps back. Telling him to go eat and sing with the assurance that he’d be somewhere in the crowd.

And, he is. Watching as Jaskier throws his errant energy into his performance. Reading the room with ease that had the crowd singing along heartily. Even ‘Toss a Coin’ gets a round of applause, despite the fact the Geralt hasn’t done anything for the town yet. It did get him a few drunken leads to investigate more in the morning, and Jaskier’s salacious grin as he winks at him tells Geralt that he knows it as well. 

He makes his escape from the main bar early, listening to Jaskier perform from the second floor as he lays ropes out on the bed in neat rows. It doesn’t take Jaskier long to beg exhaustion from the day’s travels, promising to play again the next day as he collects his coin, before making his way up to the room. He stops just inside the door, blue eyes falling on the bed as he inhales sharply. Geralt inhales more slowly, the restless energy tangible in the air, but arousal and need coat his senses like fine wine. 

“Strip.” 

The word makes Jaskier jump, blinking at Geralt before nodding hastily, stepping into the room to close the door securely behind him. Then he’s stripping himself down with impressive speed, clothes left in a half-folded pile as he moves into the room. “Geralt, I…” 

He’s hushed with a hand at the back of his neck, thumb stroking the skin slowly. “Relax,” gold eyes trail over his face slowly, watching the deep breath that allows the bard to follow the instruction. “You don’t have to explain or focus on anything but me.”

 _Let me help you find your quiet._

Blue eyes are wide on him before he nods slowly, allowing himself to be shuffled back to stand against the bed, turning when directed to allow his hands to be secured behind his back, shifting slightly as the rope settles in smooth lines against his skin. There’s sweat on his skin from the energy put into his performance, but it still required focus. Jaskier never gave a thoughtless performance, mind always working to see what drew his audience in and how to proceed from song to song to keep them engaged. 

And Geralt gets the feeling that, just for a while, Jaskier needs to not think at all.

The knots aren’t terribly complicated or intricate, but he can see the way they do what the design is meant to do. Muscles flex against the touch of the ropes and the way they restrain him. His eyes grow more distant as his breathing deepens as he tests their restraint and finds no give. Most telling of all, the vibrating energy that had been rocking through him all day with ceaseless rambling begins to dissipate. He’s quiet, just breathing as Geralt tests the ropes around his chest and stomach, fitting fingers between the ropes and Jaskier’s biceps, feeling muscle flex and relax beneath his touch. 

Fingers tap under Jaskier’s chin to focus on him, brows lifting. “Is this good?” Jaskier nods, blinking in slow focus. “Do you need me to tie your legs?” His head shakes slowly, focused on Geralt’s golden eyes as he watches him. “Your word to get out immediately?” Jaskier goes to nod again, but Geralt catches his chin, head shaking. “Words, Jask. Just for now” 

“Marx,” his voice is low, but eager, the scent of lust and contentment pouring off his skin. “And something to drop, if I can’t speak.” Blue eyes drop to the front of Geralt’s leathers for a moment before coming up to his face again. 

“Good,” Geralt leans to kiss him slowly before stepping back. “Down on your knees.” 

He steps back, allowing Jaskier to make his way to kneeling without the use of his arms while he steps to the table in the room to pick up one of the tin cups on the table. He could hear just about anything Jaskier dropped but the metal would make a good noise and it would fit easily in his hand. If not for the ropes wrapped around his body, kneeling on the ground with his head bowed quietly, Jaskier would look like he was meditating. And maybe it’s something like that for him.

The cup presses into his hand lightly, and Geralt makes sure Jaskier has a grip on it before stepping around him to sit on the bed, beginning to unlace his breeches. “I heard you promise to sing tomorrow, so I won’t overwork your throat tonight,” he cups the back of Jaskier’s neck to slowly pull him forward as he draws his cock from the confines, stroking slowly. Jaskier just inhales, trusting Geralt to keep him balanced as he leans forward to stretch his lips around Geralt’s cock. Geralt exhales sharply, fingers curling into Jaskier’s hair to take the pace and control it, allowing just the tip of his cock to rest on Jaskier’s pallet. “Let go, songbird. Let me do the work.”

Jaskier might be the one on his knees, but this is for his benefit. Geralt uses his grip in dark hair to guide the bard’s mouth over his length, pulling him away when he hits the back of his throat, not pushing deeper. A whine drags from Jaskier as he’s pulled away, wide blue eyes focused up to Geralt, pupils blown wide and hazy. Geralt huffs a laugh, head shaking a bit, allowing himself to press deeper on the next thrust, watching Jaskier’s eyes roll back slowly with the pleasure of it. It’s the most relaxed Geralt has seen him through the day, and it’s a good look. And even just allowing Geralt to thrust into his mouth, he feels phenomenal. He can smell the way the younger man’s cock is leaking between his thighs and the trust and pleasure being given to him pushes Geralt higher. 

His own pleasure is almost secondary to watching the way Jaskier relaxes into the treatment. Dark lashes like smudges on his cheeks as his eyes flutter shut, relaxing and allowing thrusts deeper into his throat, though Geralt is careful with it. He wants to sing the next night and that will keep him occupied if any of the leads from the night pan out into an actual contract. 

“I’m going to come all over you,” he exhales as his hips roll into Jaskier’s mouth slowly, rubbing the head of his cock over the roof of his mouth. It's almost lazy, the way he allows pleasure to build up slowly, petting an occasional hand down the line of Jaskier's broad shoulders and back, one hand always in his hair. “And, then I’m going to lay you out on this bed, and fuck you until you come on my cock.” 

Jaskier inhales as Geralt pulls away from him, looking up at him with wide eyes. Pools of dark lust, with only the thinnest ring of blue around his pupils. “ _Please_.” Geralt inhales at the wrecked quality of his voice, stroking himself to look over swollen lips and the spit that covers Jaskier’s chin and throat. Jaskier is always attractive, but like this, open and trusting and absolutely relaxed, he's undeniably gorgeous. 

Geralt grunts with a deep breath, stroking with one hand as he keeps the other tangled in soft, dark hair to keep his head tipped back in his grip. Jaskier pants quietly through parted lips, his gaze just barely focused as Geralt grunts his way through his orgasm, spilling over his face and lips, over his tongue and then directing spurts over his neck and chest, allowing it to soak into the rope and thick chest hair. It leaves Jaskier a mess of come and sweat, working to swallow what he could. 

Geralt leans into him, cupping his cheeks and the mess there as he drops down to kiss him slowly. Messy fingers curl through his hair, spreading scent there. He knows by the morning Jaskier will need a bath, but he enjoys having his scent so primally all over the bard far too much to resist the urge to mark him however he can. It’s shamelessly possessive, and he breaks the kiss, tipping his head to breathe in where his scent coats the skin. Then he’s moving, lifting Jaskier easily to lay him out on the bed. He steps back to allow Jaskier to stretch his legs as he moves to their bags to retrieve the oil. He very easily could have set it out beside the bed before they started, but it gives him a chance to strip fully on the way, and build anticipation. 

He might not take to Jaskier’s talent for flowery words and poetry, but he can certainly make the moment worth waiting for. 

Under any other circumstances, Jaskier would have squirmed himself into whatever position he preferred for the evening. Just then, he’s stretched where Geralt had left him, moving just enough to stretch long legs along the bed, watching him with sharp blue eyes. Still hazy and peaceful, but he doesn’t look away. 

It takes some work for Geralt to arrange them just how he wants them, his back against the headboard, and Jaskier’s knees spread over his thighs. His legs are probably already sore, and it leaves him to trust Geralt to do most of the work, which is exactly his goal. One hand curls into Jaskier’s hair to pull him close, licking his face clean in slow, reverent motions. The other hand drops behind his back, slick with warmed oil to rub over his relaxed hole. A quiet sound pulls from the man in his lap as he groans, allowing Geralt to slide two fingers into him without trouble. He shivers in Geralt’s grip and Geralt can feel his muscles flex as his hands curl into slow fists before he relaxes again, panting hotly against Geralt’s neck. 

Two fingers become three and then four, even as Jaskier starts to squirm with gentle whines as his hips twitch back. But, that’s where it stays; the quiet whines and restless movements instead of the usual flood of words, orders, and breathless encouragement Jaskier is known for. He does settle a sharp bite against a scarred shoulder, impatience warring with the calm of the ropes wrapped around him. 

Their position only needs a little adjustment as Geralt slides a big hand under one thigh while the other holds his cock steady, allowing Jaskier to sink down onto him. The bard gasps sharply as the head pressed just inside his rim, spearing him wide. 

And, Geralt holds him there. Just barely inside him, and keeping him there with the hand under his thigh, even as Jaskier pants into his neck with sharp, quiet whines and desperately trying to urge his hips down, for _more_ , for something, even if he doesn’t speak. It’s mindless, instinctual action, and that is exactly what Geralt had been looking for. 

His grip loosens just slightly, allowing Jaskier to sink down on him until his hips settle down into the cradle of Geralt’s. Jaskier whines softly into his neck with a sigh, hips arching to settle as his body rolls slowly against Geralt’s. One hand shifts over Jaskier’s thigh, wrapping the other securely around his back, planting his feet on the bed, and using the leverage to thrust into the pliant body against him, as he lifts and moves Jaskier with ease to meet his upward motions. 

Jaskier doesn’t necessarily stay quiet like this, gasps and cries of pleasure each time his body rocks against Geralt’s spilling freely from his lips, but it’s never words. Just senseless sounds of pleasure, occasionally Geralt’s name, and the simple act of Jaskier giving himself over to Geralt so thoroughly is enough to urge him to thrust up faster against him. Jaskier gasps, pressing his mouth into Geralt’s shoulder, though it does little to stop the sounds dragging from him. 

Using his hands to direct the direction and pace of Jaskier’s hips allows him to shift, changing the angle of his thrust until the bard in his lap practically screams, his body arching as he struggles in his bonds. Whether to get more of the sensation or away from something that might be boarding on _too-much-can’t-take-it-please-more_ as his cock leaks copiously where it’s trapped between their bodies. If Geralt were not entirely sure ( from personal experience) that Jaskier could and would come like this without a single hand on his cock, he might take mercy with the way Jaskier begs with quiet noise, his body shuddering helplessly in his grip. 

As it is, the way Jaskier’s body clenches around his cock is wholly distracting, and it runs the risk of setting him over the edge as well. Despite having come so recently, the way Jaskier bares himself to openly and willingly drags at the edges of his control each and every time. 

So he focuses, inhales at Jaskier’s neck where he still smells like Geralt’s come, and steadies his thrusts to drag relentlessly over Jaskier’s prostate until the bard is panting into his shoulder, cursing when he can, and his whole body is shuddering. Geralt drags his hand down his back until his fingers can run idly over Jaskier’s stretched rim around his cock, just touching the slick skin as he growls deep in his chest and directly into Jaskier’s ear. The sound that pulls from Jaskier is choked off and a little desperate as he comes, and Geralt can feel his cock twitching as it spurts against his stomach in hot, wet lines that spread the bard’s scent over both of them. 

And that’s all he needs, Jaskier shivering in his arms with aftershocks as he breathes him in, and it only takes another three thrusts for Geralt’s orgasm to crash over him. He grips the bard tight to him, hips rocking slowly against him until breathless pants gain the edge of a whimper, oversensitized and with him still wrapped in the ropes it’s not the time to toe that line. 

Geralt keeps a hand on him the whole time as he gets the ropes undone, only leaving the bed long enough to toss them towards their bags and get a rag wet to wipe them both down. Then he’s arranging them both beneath the scratchy sheet, pulling Jaskier against his chest as the younger man sighs, lips pressed to his shoulder. 

“You, my dear, dear witcher,” Jaskier sighs slowly as his hands drag up Geralt’s sides. His voice has a low, airy quality to it. A little distant, and soft, even as he regains his words. “You are so much more than I could possibly deserve,” he’s quiet for long moments, rubbing his cheek where it’s pressed against the shift of Geralt’s pectoral muscle. Inhaling slowly, what he can actually take in of their combined scents. “Thank you, Geralt.” 

The witcher hums softly, rubbing his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s back. His lips press to Jaskier’s temple gently, breathing in the scent of his spend on Jaskier’s skin, where it had been curled through his hair on Geralt’s hands. He likes the scent there, likes knowing that he’s marked Jaskier for his own so thoroughly. He huffs out a breath, head shaking. “Sleep, songbird,” the words are quietly gruff against his hair. Silence curls between them as Jaskier’s breathing evens out steadily. “You’re welcome, Jaskier.”

There’s a smile against the skin of his shoulder and Jaskier’s fingers squeeze his side gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy gosh there has been such an incredible response to this story, thank y'all so much! I'm glad y'all are enjoying it. I'm trying to update once a week, so we're about halfway through. I threw out my back this weekend really badly, so I'm really glad I was able to update this on time (because all I did was lie in bed with my phone and edit).
> 
> Bet y'all weren't expecting 1k+ words of exposition before we go to the sexy times, huh? 
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> Toss a comment and some kudos to your writer so they can finish up part six with some good old fashioned smut.


	4. i lived the life ( & paid for every crime )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wins a mysterious potion in a game of cards. He didn't intend to drink, but as plans are wont to do, it goes array. 
> 
> Warnings: Knotting, feral!Jaskier, potion induced knotting, rough sex, multiple orgasms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, I'm going to write a proper Jaskier creature-feature fic with knotting and all that good stuff. This is not that fic, but I did manage to sneak knotting into this one. Anyways.

Jaskier is impulsive. It’s a good part of what Geralt loves about him, really, he does. But it also leads them to situations like the one they’re in right now. The potion wasn’t outright _dangerous_ ( though Geralt trusted the sorcerer’s word about as far as Jaskier could throw them ) but won in a game of cards, Geralt is more than prepared to neutralize the damn thing when they’ve left the town and made camp for the night. He really should have counted on Jaskier’s curiosity making that simple task an impossibility. 

“What do you suppose he meant by something to bring out a person’s primal instincts?” 

Blue eyes study the vial in his hand, the slightly opaque liquid inside turned lilac in the fading sunlight as Geralt builds up the fire to roast the rabbits he’d managed to trap to go with the bread from the tavern. The witcher grunts, sparing him a short glance. “When a sorcerer feels the need to state it won’t cause _grievous_ bodily injury, does it matter? I doubt it’s much more than a glorified sex potion.”

A hum pulls from the bard. “I suppose that is what some would call a primal urge. Though why not just call it a sex potion then?”

“Why does it matter, Jaskier? You cleared him out of his coin, there’s every chance he threw in the potion so you’d embarrass yourself in public.”

“Well, that shows what he knows. I’ve humiliated myself plenty in public. And I’d hardly take a strange potion in the middle of a crowded tavern.” 

Geralt grunts as he stands. “You’re wasting time thinking about it. As soon as I track down the plant I need, I’m going to destroy it,” he turns gold eyes on a suddenly very-guilty-looking Jaskier. Geralt’s gaze zeros in on the now _uncorked_ vial in the poet’s hands and the fading purple mist that curls around his nose and mouth, clearly startled into inhaling before he could even think not to. 

Startled blue eyes come up to him sharply, a little too wide. “I wasn’t going to drink it!” He’s quick to defend himself as he takes a step back. “Potions generally use strong ingredients, and you were going to dispose of it, so I wanted to satiate some of my curiosity. I absolutely did not expect it to turn into a vapor when the air hit it.” 

A low growl bubbles up from Geralt’s chest as he strides forward until he can grip the bard’s wrist. He sniffs first at the vial, the scents dull and indistinct. It won’t help, so he turns his attention to Jaskier, breathing in at the skin of his wrist, noticing the way his heart rate jumps up, and adrenaline floods the scent. There are arousal and excitement there, but there’s something else there as well. Eventually, Geralt’s gaze searches out Jaskier’s, because while his heart sounds like it might be attempting to break from his ribs, his breathing is calm and deep. Inhaling slowly through his mouth like he’s tasting the air. 

_Like a predator_.

“Geralt?” There’s something resembling shock, or possibly awe in the bard’s tone, his voice lower and rougher than Geralt is used to. Amber eyes snap to meet blue, taking in wide pupils and that leave barely a sliver of blue around the pools of black. “Geralt, I rather think I’ve puzzled out the meaning of primal urges. And, you were only half right.” 

“Hm?” 

Jaskier inhales again, his free hand coming up to grip the front of Geralt’s tunic in his fist. “I…” He exhales sharply, and there’s a feral glint in those bright blue eyes. Geralt can’t help but allow himself to get lost in them for a moment, inhaling slowly to take in the scents pouring of Jaskier’s skin. “I would very much like to hunt you down and _claim you_ ,” his grip jerks Geralt closer, and he allows it, almost surprised by the strength of the bard’s grip. Lips meet his with more than a hint of teeth and Geralt growls into the motion, but he allows Jaskier to set the pace, stepping back slowly as Jaskier directs the motion until his back meets a tree and Jaskier is crowding into his space. 

It would be easy for Geralt to stop him, but there’s a need in each of Jaskier’s touches that he’s not particularly inclined to turn down. The kiss breaks and leaves both of them panting as Jaskier stares into his eyes from inches away. The bard looks absolutely feral, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he takes half a step back, even with Geralt’s grip on him doesn’t loosen, undoubtedly leaving finger-shaped bruises on pale skin. 

“Geralt?”

The way he says his name is distracting, low, and more than a little dangerous in a way that sends a spiral of heat through him. “Hm?” The hum is distracted, even as Jaskier takes another step back from him. He taps fingers under the witcher’s chin, really drawing his attention and waiting until golden eyes focus on his face. “Yes?” 

Dilated blue eyes focus on Geralt, taking another half step back that forces Geralt to release him. 

“Run.” 

It takes a second for the command to register, meeting Jaskier’s wide, wild gaze for long moments before he inhales and nods. 

And then he bolts for the trees. He moves fast, focusing mostly on Jaskier’s responses. Potions like that could increase a human’s stamina, their senses and responses increased to something animal and intense. So he’s testing mostly, listening to Jaskier’s breathing and the sound of his footsteps. They’ve played this game before, a game of chase through the woods. Though, Geralt is typically on the other side of the chase, always the hunter, never the prey. It’s good for Jaskier because as often as Geralt is there to protect him, there will be times when he won’t and he wants him to be able to defend himself. And, if that fails, he wants him to be able to run. 

It’s different being on this end of it. And Jaskier keeps up well like this. Better than Geralt expects, and he has to shift his course before he expected to. His plan is to circle the camp, get out far enough for a chase that will still satisfy the need he’d seen coursing through the bard’s eyes. 

His focus had shifted, and it’s only an errant snap of a twig that gives him the time to duck and send Jaskier flying over his head with an indignant yelp. Geralt laughs sharply, gathering his feet under himself to make the sprint back to camp. 

The growl gives Jaskier away, and Geralt only has moments to brace himself as he stumbles into the clearing of their camp. Then Jaskier is slamming into his back with impressive speed, and the witcher is toppled into the dirt. 

“ _Fucking hell_ , Jask,” the words are grunted out, shifting himself up a little as Jaskier levers himself up, dragging at his tunic, and Geralt is barely able to assist quickly enough to prevent the shirt from being torn from his body. He sits up more, glancing over his shoulder and noticing for the first time that Jaskier had shed his doublet before he’d started the chase, and the undershirt and traveling pants show the sweat of his exertion. His gaze is still a little wild, the blue fathomlessly dark and deep as he sweeps his eyes over Geralt. 

He exhales as he shifts back, pushing himself to his feet as he drags the undershirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Get rid of your pants, and get the oil, Geralt.” 

Geralt follows his hands as they move the laces on his breeches and the boot Jaskier kicks off nearly smacks him in the face. The singer’s brows lift at him expectantly, and Geralt moves. _Scrambles_ , if he’s being completely honest, and he won’t even deny it. He kicks off his own boots near the bags and shuffles out of his pants at the same time as he attempts to dig through Jaskier’s bag for the oil he knows is there and readily available. He moves to the bedrolls, not waiting for instruction from Jaskier. He’s going to get fucked in the dirt under whatever influence of the potion that Jaskier had inhaled, he’s damn well going to make sure he’s well-prepped. Lust drunk blue eyes are focused on him as he strokes his cock, and Jaskier doesn’t seem exceptionally inclined to patience if given his own way. 

“Ah, no,” Geralt’s voice is firm as he shifts to his back, fixing Jaskier with a long stare. “You want your prey? Your prize?” His head tips back as he spreads his legs slowly, coating his fingers in oil. “A good hunter knows how to wait. Stalking their prey until just right,” a quiet sigh pulls from him as he sinks two fingers into himself. Too fast but just right.

Jaskier _growls_ and Geralt thinks he’s never quite appreciated any potion quite so much as this one because that sound makes his whole body shudder. And he speeds up the motion of his hands to add another finger as his back arches, his eyes slipping closed without thinking about it. 

Geralt shouldn’t be surprised that Jaskier takes the opportunity to pounce on him, startling Geralt a bit as the bard settles between his spread thighs. The witcher hadn’t even heard him move. Musician trained fingers join his own, spreading inside him as his breath hitches. He shifts with a gasp as Jaskier’s better angle allows him to drag the calloused pads of fingers just right inside him to have the witcher writhing on his fingers. 

His wrist is jerked from his body, and Geralt grunts with it but he doesn’t argue. He just stretches his arms over his head, baring his neck to those blue eyes. Jaskier growls, shifting between them, slicking his cock impatiently before he grips himself to slide into Geralt’s ass in one slow and steady thrust. Geralt gasps and shifts under him, and adjusts his hips just a little. Allowing Jaskier’s knees to shift beneath his arse, lifting him and changing the angle again. It allows his cock to drag over the bundle of nerves inside of Geralt, the ridge at the head of his cock catching it and making him shake. 

Jaskier falls over him, allowing Geralt’s legs to curl around his hips as he drags his hands up Geralt’s arms to pin them over his head. Not that Geralt couldn’t break the hold, but he allows it, panting as dilated gold eyes focus up at him. His head falls back, allowing Jaskier to lean over him, teeth dragging over his bared throat, teeth digging in and _claiming_ as his body rocks forward. Geralt offers a faint growl at the feeling of something catching on his rim each time the bard withdraws, making him growl low in his chest. 

“Oh shit,” Jaskier hesitates a little, stopping his thrusts to stare down at his cock with something like shock. “What the fuck is happening to my cock?”

Geralt groans, flexing his thighs around Jaskier’s hips. “You wanted primal urges,” he growls out, blinking wide gold eyes up at him. “Do you know how wolves _mate_ Jaskier? The urge to claim and breed and keep?” The bard’s head shakes a little, still staring, until Geralt’s thighs flex against, dragging Jaskier closer, in hitched, aborted thrusts. He's sure he does, but he can't think clearly enough to form the coherent thought “They have a knot to tie them to their mate. To claim, to breed,” he sighs with Jaskier’s unsteady gasp, nails dragging up Geralt’s chest. “And it looks like that potion is really doing what it was intended to do.” 

“And what, pray tell, the bloody fuck is that?”

Wide golden eyes focus on Jaskier rolling his hips slowly and dragging the bard closer against him. “Right now, it means getting it back inside me before it’s too big and fucking me full fo your come,” he sighs as Jaskier rocks against him. Geralt bears down as Jaskier presses into him. “Then we see what this potion does for your stamina.”

A startled gasp pulls from the bard, jerking forward until he can press into Geralt, the knot ( _oh fuck, that is a **knot** , a real, honest to gods knot_ ) presses into Geralt’s body, making him arch to take the stretch. And then Jaskier is seated inside him, the knot expanding rapidly and with force as Jaskier’s back bows with the force of his orgasm. And the way he grinds the knot into Geralt sets him off as well, painting his stomach and chest in ropes of semen. They pant together as Jaskier leans over him to share their breaths as Jaskier presses their foreheads together. 

Jaskier can’t help the way his hips roll against Geralt, grinding into him as much as he can with the knot tying them together.

“This is… Intense,” Jaskier finally manages the word, focused on him slowly, hips flexing. 

Geralt grunts, body jumping a little when the knot presses against him, oversensitized but he’s getting up again without issue or hesitation. “That it is. With the knot magic-induced, I don’t know how long it will last.” 

“Well, fuck,” Jaskier exhales harshly, his hands kneading at the skin of Geralt’s stomach as his fingers drag over his skin slowly. “Geralt, I really did not mean to inhale that potion. I was curious, yes, of course, I was, but I wasn’t going to swallow down a random potion the sorcerer was going to give up in a bet.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s hands come up to curl through his hair slowly, giving a helpless shudder as the bard’s hips roll against him irregularly. The knot is going down, artificial and potion induced, but it still drags inside him. “Apologize _later_ , because I am not complaining right now.” 

Jaskier swears against him as Geralt’s body clenches around him, hips hitching forward with a sharp gasp. The pace is rolling and a little unsteady, Jaskier adjusting pretty impressively to the magical adjustment to his body. 

Eventually, an enthusiastic roll of his hips actually pulls the softened knot from Geralt’s body, and the sensation of it has Geralt coming all over himself again, thick spurts of come leaving thick ropes over his stomach. 

“F-fuck, Geralt, I was not,” he swallows hard, looking at him through thick lashes, breath coming heavily and uncomfortably as he looks over Geralt. “I did not mean to pull out like that, but that felt _ridiculously_ good, and you seemed to agree. And, my body does not seem to have gotten the message that I just came, and as I am no longer a teenager I should not still be hard.” 

Geralt squints at him for a moment as he takes the time to catch his breath. He shifts, rocking himself up until he can flip Jaskier onto his back. Blue eyes are wide as Jaskier stares up at him, pupils still consuming the majority of the color, color flooding high in his cheeks and spreading down his chest. Geralt’s golden eyes are equally consumed as he plants his hands on Jaskier’s chest, following the spreading heat, looking down at him as he pants slowly. 

He shifts his hips back slowly, rolling as he sinks down on Jaskier’s cock again. “If you… If you keep apologizing, I might actually think you mean it.” The knot has mostly gone down, allowing Geralt to really lift himself up the length of the cock inside him, clenching as he rocks back before dropping back down against him heavily. He can feel the knot starting to swell again as Jaskier’s hands grip his thighs. With Geralt moving heavily over his body, the need to claim seems to be satisfied, the unyielding weight of Geralt’s body keeping his hips all but pinned down when he thrust up against him. 

When he feels the knot catch almost uncomfortably, he settles in his lap more firmly, grinding against him as the knot inflates again. Jaskier’s orgasm seems ripped out of him, digging short nails into Geralt’s thighs as his back arches as much as he can. He looks absolutely devastated, and Geralt shudders over him. The way the knot drags inside him as his cock jerks again to spread his spend over Jaskier’s stomach. 

They pant together as Geralt leans over him, arms resting on either side of the bard’s head. Even knotted, he can feel Jaskier’s uneven breaths and energy thrumming beneath the younger man’s skin. The potion hasn’t burned its way out of his system yet, not completely. The knot is taking longer to go down this time, keeping them tied close together. 

But they’re close enough to their packs that Geralt can stretch out for a waterskin, helping Jaskier drink. It’s really not until water touches his parched lips that Jaskier realizes how thirsty he is, barely restrained from choking as he gulps the water down. 

Jaskier can’t settle for long, and he’s surging up to drag Geralt into rough kisses, fingers curling through the long, white hair and pulling. Urging and insistent until they’re able to separate again. 

…

Jaskier fucks him twice more before dawn and potion’s effects are finally leaving him exhausted and fucked out. They’re a mess, neither with the energy to really clean themselves up. With the bard curled against his back, Geralt can feel his finally steady breathing. Calloused fingers stroke idly along his stomach, even in his sleep and Geralt isn’t far off. 

He’ll be walking funny come morning, and he highly, highly doubts he’ll be riding Roach at least for the next day or two. But, just to himself, he can admit that maybe the results of this potion weren’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. I had a whole bunch of fun writing this one. 
> 
> Comments and kudos help keep me writing and posting.


	5. i never knew how much (it would hurt to feel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier rarely gets the opportunity to indulge with Geralt's cock in his mouth, but he takes advantage when he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is late, oops. Yesterday was a little rough. 
> 
> No real warnings for this one? I just really like writing oral sex. 
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are on me

Jaskier met Geralt when he was barely eighteen-years-old, and he had learned very quickly on The Path that there was very little room for modesty. 

And, from the very first time he had the honor of seeing the witcher’s absolutely glorious cock, the bard had dreamed of gagging himself until he was choked and desperate for even a gasp of air.

Since that first time, Jaskier found that getting his mouth around that absolutely glorious cock had become one of his favorite activities. The fact it was one of the few activities that really, truly silenced the bard lead Geralt to claim it made it one of his favorite activities. Though, Jaskier knew that witcher appreciated his voice and had even managed to complement his singing on the rare occasion. The regular complaints did nothing to dissuade Jaskier’s absolute love for sucking Geralt’s cock like his life absolutely depended on it. When they’ll be on the road for a few weeks and he’s not likely to perform for any extra coin? Those might be some of the best because he can fuck his throat sore and scream his pleasure to the skies for all the world to hear.

That he can get Geralt off with his mouth and still ride him until his thighs feel like they’re going to give out? Well, that’s a bonus he can’t begin to describe.

And, it’s one of those nights, camped out under the stars with at least a week of continued camping unless they stumble across a settlement in need of the witcher’s assistance. 

Dilated golden eyes watch where Jaskier is stretched on his stomach between thick thighs, his back propped lazily against a tree as Jaskier drags slow licks over the length in front of him. One hand curls around the base of Geralt’s cock to hold him steady while the other ventures; blunt nails dragging over his chest and thighs, dragging through the white hair that decorates the strong figure. Geralt’s hand cards through his hair lazily, tugging occasionally as Jaskier teases. 

He doesn’t let that change the pace he’s set, not inclined to take more of Geralt’s cock down his throat before he’s ready. His tongue drags along the underside shamelessly, using the extra pressure to push the head over the ridged roof of his mouth. Blue eyes track his face lazily from beneath his lashes, watching as Geralt’s lips part as he stares down the length of his body as Jaskier’s mouth moves down to swallow around him. The heat in Geralt’s eyes is more than enough to convince him to move deep, swallowing around the thick length that slips back his gag reflex. He can feel the ache and stretch in his throat, and the thick drool that follows with it as he pulls away slowly, the barest hint of his teething making Geralt jerk under him. 

Jaskier can feel the heavy ache in his jaw and the back of his throat from the maintained stretch, but he has no complaints. No one to sing to but Geralt and Roach for a bit while they’re on the road. The latter rarely cares what state his voice is in, and the former would much rather make him sing in pleasure on his cock until his voice is rough anyways.

It works well in everyone’s good favor. 

“Jaskier,” the word is growled low as Jaskier strokes him with light fingers as he leans away from Geralt to dig oil from the bags at his hip. The bard just lifts dark brows at him, head tipped slightly as his mouth lowers back down over Geralt’s generous length. The weight and taste of the witcher on his tongue is enough to send heading spreading through Jaskier. He’d sigh in pleasure at the feeling if his mouth and throat weren’t otherwise occupied, but he wouldn’t trade his current position for the world. Fingers curl in his hair again, and Jaskier groans around him as he makes a sloppy job of spreading oil over his fingers, as he takes Geralt into his throat until his nose is pressed into the white hair at the base of him. Coarser than the hair on his head but, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, no less glorious. 

His eyes flutter shut as he swallows around Geralt at the same time that he presses two fingers into himself without preamble. He arches into his own touch, huffing at the stretch as he impatiently works a third finger in, drawing his head up to tease the ridge beneath the thick mushroom head. Blue eyes flick up to him, teeth teasing at the foreskin as his fingers spread, teasing himself as much as Geralt. He traces the slit, spreading the flat of his tongue over him before dropping his head back down, mouth wide to swallow around him again.

He focuses, using his tongue to trace the prominent vein on the underside, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls away with steady suction before dropping down to do it again. The stretch of his throat makes his eyes water, tears clinging to the arch of his lashes as they brush against his cheeks, and it only encourages him to pump his fingers deeper into himself, arching with the stretch.

Fingertips just barely brush his prostate and the resulting moan vibrates around Geralt’s cock. The witcher’s hips roll up without thought, already as deep as he can go as Jaskier goes with it. Swallowing sloppily until he’s forced to pull away to breathe, panting for air as thick drool pools from his throat to drip over his lips, connecting to Geralt’s cock in strings until he licks his lips and they snap. 

And, that apparently snaps Geralt’s control, because he fists his hand in Jaskier’s hair, dragging him up to his lips to share a heated, sloppy kiss as he drags the younger man into his lap. Geralt growls against his lips as slender, muscled thighs spread over his own, pressed together until their cock can slide along each other leaving slick trails of precome and saliva over both their skin. Jaskier had had a plan. A good plan. Pushing the witcher over the edge to taste him, dragging at the frayed shreds of his own self-control with Jaskier's mouth on him before crawling into the other’s lap to ride them both into completion. But, Geralt is wrapping a large hand around both their erections to stroke slowly and Jaskier really cannot find it in himself to give a damn. 

The kiss breaks with a groan and Jaskier shifts, near scrambling to find the oil again and pouring a generous amount over Geralt's cock. He shuffles forward as the Witcher shifts back until he can align himself over Geralt's cock and sink down. Muscles tremble at the stretch, his back arching as Geralt holds himself steady until Jaskier is seated comfortably in the cradle of his hips. He rests for long moments, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s as he breathes to adjust to the girth and length inside him. 

They meet again in a slow kiss, though Jaskier’s coordination of movement is quickly stripped from him as his hips roll. Fingers dig into the skin of Geralt’s shoulders as he shifts his knees beneath himself to lift and lower himself slowly, arching at the way his body shifts to accommodate Geralt inside him and how the position makes it nearly impossible for Geralt’s cock _not_ to drag inside him in a way that sends sparks up the length of his spine. 

It’s an effort to force his eyes to open, gazing hazily at Geralt’s face. Golden eyes are sharp as he watches Jaskier move over him, big hands fixed to slender hips. Standing next to Geralt would make most people look less imposing, but Jaskier still finds it somewhat fascinating how that grip on his hips can make him look damn near delicate. 

Jaskier tenses his thighs, working his body over him. He finds a smooth rhythm as he rocks on Geralt’s cock steadily. His head falls back as he grips strong shoulder muscles to keep himself steady and moving. Geralt allows it, thick thighs tensed as he resists thrusting up into the body above him. Jaskier pants out unsteady words, his voice rising as he works himself over. His own cock leaks without a single touch to it, painting the strong lines of Geralt’s abs with precome. 

The large, rough hand that wraps around his cock makes Jaskier startle, jerking and that drags Geralt’s cock against his prostate, making the bard shout again as his back arches. He loses the steady support of his legs, leaving Geralt to support his weight, wrapping an arm around him to pull close, drawing his knees up to rock Jaskier in his lap with slow, sure movements. That’s not going to last long, Jaskier knows. Not when he’s clinging to Geralt, wrapping arms and legs around him. It’s easy to allow Geralt to move him like that, drawing him up and slamming him down. Again and again, until Jaskier is practically sobbing into his neck with pleased shouts that run his voice ragged. 

Teeth dig firmly into his neck, and that does it. Jaskier’s body quakes, muscles clenching as he spills between them, short nails dragging over Geralt’s back. The slick spreads between their stomachs and Geralt pauses for a moment as Jaskier trembles against him, allowing him to catch his breath. 

Jaskier swallows twice before nodding, patting the large shoulder beneath his cheek. “Go on. Wanna feel you finish inside me.” 

A grunt pulls from Geralt as he pushes forward, rolling Jaskier to his back, and Jaskier allows his legs to spread wide around his hips. Geralt sits up, collecting slender thighs over his forearms and thrusting hard into him. Jaskier gasps, arching a little to find a comfortable position before going easily lax to allow Geralt to take his pleasure. He draws lazy fingers through the mess on his stomach, watching him with lidded eyes as he brings the fingers to his lips. Then he repeats the slow motions of his tongue over Geralt’s cock, but visibly now on the fingers that drag slowly in and out of his mouth. 

Geralt’s groan is half-broken, gripping bruises into Jaskier’s hips as he thrusts into him hard until he’s shuddering over him, orgasm rushing through him with clenched muscles. He stretches over Jaskier’s body slowly, mouth at his neck slowly to leave a defined mark as he pumps into his body until they’re both slick and sticky with it. 

It takes longer than it probably should to get themselves even somewhat cleaned up and tucked halfway into bedrolls. 

…

The next morning, Jaskier’s voice is ragged as he idly strokes his lute without making much effort to actually sing. 

And if Geralt happens to smirk and ask more questions than usual, and look unbelievably pleased with himself when Jaskier croaks out his replies, well, no one comments on it. Even Roach keeps her judgemental looks to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on the last bit of this. This one was shorter than it probably deserved but I hope y'all enjoyed it anyways ! 
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me coming back for more.

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so all mistakes my own. I'll update as I edit finished sections. 
> 
> Aiming for once a week-ish, considering a lot of it is already written. 
> 
> Toss some kudos to your author.


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